Treasure the Memories
by wolfeyes32
Summary: Mira Bekkner is a 14 year old girl growing up in District 7 in the year of the 39th annual Hunger Games. What will happen when her brother is reaped but she cannot volunteer in his place? Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold morning when I awoke.

But yet, was it not cold for everyone one this morning? For many of us it was not the temperature itself so much as the deathly silence that chills us all to the bones, just as it does every reaping day.

My name is Mirabelle Bekkner, but everyone calls me Mira. I am 14, and living in District 7. I am used to the sound of trees falling to the ground and machines being revved for use. We are, after all, the lumber district. My father leaves our house early every morning to cut wood, hauling it onto a large cart. Every night he comes home exhausted but satisfied, glad to have completed a long day of hard work. He always sneaks small pieces of wood into his pockets for me, despite the fact that this is illegal and, were this the Capitol, he would be charged with criminal offenses.

I love the wood. I carve it into figures, into animals. Even into things only I can see, figments of my imagination. Each carving holds something for me. A little bit of my soul locked away in the recesses of the warm colored wood. They hold memories of where I was, _who _I was while I sat and carved, stroke after stroke, etching my heart onto such an assuming form. My carvings make me a bit of an oddity in our town. Most girls are expected to haul wood for their fathers or brothers, not to sit around at home and carve imaginary beings. But my unnaturally small build makes this impossible, since I would never be strong enough to do the job. Despite all of this, people still acknowledge my work and occasionally will stop by to trade for one.

As I said, everyone in District 7 is used to waking to the sound of machinery. But today, the silence is eerie and complete. It is early in the morning, and the sun is just beginning to rise. Lights flicker on in houses nearby as people awaken and add to the weight of the silence. I climb out of bed and wash my face, shivering as the freezing water runs down my neck. I ran a hand through my dirty hair and trudged slowly to my twin brother Samuel's room. Usually, I would have made a note to make my footsteps quiet and light, but in this eerie silence nothing seems loud enough and I take less care than normal. "Sam! Wake up!" I whisper, although I don't know why. It isn't as though my shaky voice will wake anyone, but to break the silence seems nearly ungodly at this point. Sam rolls over and grunts, and after a few minutes of futile attempts to jostle him away, I tell myself that I will come back if he's not up in the next few minutes.

I trust that my mother and father will be up on their own, so I walk back to my room. I open the door and there is a small midnight blue dress smoothed across the sheets with care. I smile, since I know that this would cost no small amount for my family. I put it on and admire it in the mirror. It is simple, but wonderful as I have had only one dress for most of my life and it was only for very special occasions. I spend a few minutes brushing through my thick brown hair and then just admire the dress in the mirror.

I hear my brother coming down the hall and I realize that it will soon be time to go. My heart pounds and I feel the butterflies in my stomach, but I force myself to calm down, to take a deep breath. I have taken only nine tesserae, and there are thousands of slips in that bowl. My chances are slim. But then again... Sam has taken twenty-two tesserae. He would not let me take very many, only when we were absolutely on the brink of starvation would he allow it. Sam's chances were much greater than mine... but once again, I reminded myself, even he was guaranteed not to be chosen. Wasn't he? I silently rebuked myself for even considering.

"Hey." I turned and saw Sam standing in my doorway. I looked down at my shoes, hoping that he wouldn't notice the anxiety on my face from my previous thoughts. Unfortunately, Sam can, and always could, read me like a book.

"Mira, don't worry. You'll be fine." He said as he came and plopped down next to me on the bed.

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about y-"

"_I'll _be fine. There are thousands of slips in there, Mira. Thousands." Sometimes I wonder if Sam finds a way inside my head and we spend a few minutes just sitting and, but then our mom comes in and breaks the silence.

"Time to go, you two." Sam stands and walks out to talk with our father. I stand slowly and walk with my mom out the door. "You look beautiful, Mirabelle." she says, ever the one to call me by my full name.

"Thanks." I say, putting on a fake smile more for her sake than my own. I'm too busy thinking, too many thoughts are racing through my head. I'm so lost in thought that our silent walk to the town square, which I know takes at least ten minutes, goes by in a flash. Soon we are standing in the crowd, and my mother slowly urges me forward to the fourteen-year-old girl's section. I take my place among classmates and wait for the ceremony to begin.

Again, my memory is blurred when it comes to what happened after that. I know that the story of District 13 and The Capitol was relayed, as it is every year, to remind us that if anyone even considered rebelling against the capitol, they could be squished like a bug, hardly seen as a nuisance.

The story is completed and a short, excited lady comes up on stage. If not for the situation I would have laughed at her attire. She was completely decked out in a tight, bright pink dress that made her look a bit... well, you could say it was a bit too tight for her plump form. She had on a neon green scarf made out of feathers which probably would have fed a family here for a month at least, if anyone was silly enough to buy it. Here, we dress in whatever we can find. If it keeps you warm in the winter and cool in the summer, you're pretty well off.

Once again, I restrain a small giggle that could just as easily be turned into a sob as I wonder if this is how Capitol citizens dress on a day-to-day basis. She seems completely oblivious to the fact that many people in the audience are also attempting to hold back a laugh. It would be easier for some than for other, I think to myself. The rich sons and daughters of important people who have never needed to take a tesserae in their life. For them this is just another annual event. You go, dressed nicely, watch some poor children be sent to their deaths, and go on home again. It is all just another fashion show, another display of their wealth and riches to the rest of us.

The woman on stage looks completely energetic and happy, despite all of the sullen faces staring up at her. All of those faces staring in anticipation, groping at her every word.

"Well, why don't we mix things up a bit this year, eh?" she says. "We'll do gentlemen first."

She reached into the orb of slips. There are many names, so many. But only one will be picked, and his fate will be sealed forever. Chances of winning if you're not the biggest and strongest can be just as slim as your name being called in the reaping.

My heart once again races and time seems to slow. Someone's heart will be broken in the next few seconds, someone's life changed forever. I look out among the faces and hope that my life will not be change at this reaping. There are so many others... but yet, don't we all think that our chances our slim? Someone has to be chosen, and often times it is against all odds.

My heart beats faster and the animated lady on stage pulls out a small slim of paper. I nearly faint as she calls out the familiar name. How often I had heard that name - when he had done something reckless and stupid, which happened frequently. He would be punished but it but it never seemed to stick with him. A million memories of the two of us flash through my head in a matter of a few seconds - whether we were fighting, laughing or getting into trouble, I will treasure those memories forever now, because soon he will be gone from me forever.

"Samuel Bekkner!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! I'm supposed to be writing a music paper right now but I couldn't bring myself to do it… so here I am.**

**Also, I didn't include the "May the odds be **_ever _**in your favor**" **because I didn't know if that was just an Effie Trinckit thing…. I would love it if you could tell me in your review! Also, Ideas are SUPER welcome! As well as criticism. Flames are ok as long as you give me something to improve on. **

**DISCLAIMER: Yes. I am Suzanne Collins. I WISH!**

I feel myself lose my balance a bit, and the shapes of friends and family standing around become blurred, unrecognizable as I face the ugly truth- Sam is going into the Hunger Games. I hear my mother's sobs behind me as Sam slowly makes his way through the crowd. Not that he has to do much- the sea parts for him and he moves through with his head down.

No one does a thing, and once again I am stunned by the silence- I am almost relieved when I see Diana, Sam's girlfriend of nearly 3 years, reach out to him and fall into his arms, her body racked with sobs, echoing my mothers. He holds her and comforts her when really it ought to be the other way around. I'm still trying to think of something, anything that I can do to end it, to wake up from this hellish nightmare which has become my life, when I see him whisper a few words to her. She nods and makes a failed attempt at a smile through her tears. He breaks from her grip when he realizes that he's really been taking quite a while to get up to the stage, but I can hear his voice in my mind, witty and sarcastic paired with a solemn expression, _They can wait. After all, I've got an entire life to say goodbye to. _

By the time I've really gotten back on my feet, he's already climbing the stairs to the stage and I know that it's to late. I will never get to say goodbye to my brother, to tell him how much I love him, never be able to beg him to win, for both of us because my soul will die with him if he does not survive.

And again I want to wake up. This doesn't feel real, it really does feel more like a dream, a nightmare where everything happens the way it shouldn't, and everything is grotesquely overdone. I want to wake up to the vile taste in my mouth, the taste of fear, and after that relief. I want it so bad that I squeeze my eyes shut, too engrossed in my hopes to realize that I should be savoring every last moment of being here with my brother, of seeing him real and tangible before my eyes, not on a TV screen.

But when I open my eyes it is worse, because the big screens show a close up on Sam's face and somehow I know that he is looking right at me, and his blue eyes tell me exactly what I need to hear- _Be strong. Don't fall for their trap. Be strong, for me. _

The plump woman in the no-longer-amusing green scarf introduces him to the crowd, more for the benefit of the other districts watching then our own- most people here know him already.

"Samuel! What a pleasure to have you here this morning!" She says, and I can see Sam give a visible "hmph". She is not deterred, though, and addresses him again.

"How do ou feel about being picked to compete? You look like a str-"

"Terrible." He replies, cutting her off. There is a small gasp from the crowd at the fact that he would have the guts to say this out loud, to the Capitol, to everyone. I smile faintly because that's Sam, and I love him dearly for it. In that moment I know that I don't need to tell him not to go down without a fight, because he wouldn't dare. He'll be strong to the end, and if he must, he'll die fighting.

Then before I know it the woman is reaching into the glass orb for the girls and all of a sudden I'm terrified all over again, because I know that the reaping is rigged and that the Capitol loves to mix things up, to keep the interest away from just the killing. I am disgusted by the gall of the people who sit at home watching children brutally murder each other as if it's perfectly normal and respectable. And I'm scared to hear my name scared to hear her say the words, "Mirabelle, Mirabelle, Mirabelle…."

"Diana Thomas."

For a moment I'm relieved but when I see the look in Sam's eyes, a look of complete sadness that I can't relate to, one that I've never felt before until I heard _his _name this morning, I know what I have to do. Suddenly, it all makes sense and I see how I can solve this, how I can make this work out.

"I volunteer." I whisper quietly to myself. Then louder, and louder, until I'm screaming and shouting and running up onto the stage, past Diana, not looking back to see the looks of misery on my parents faces, now to have lost both of their only children. I don't turn to see Diana, or my friends and neighbors and everyone I hold dear. No, instead I walk shakily up the stairs, quickly, and over to the girl's microphone. Volunteers are almost unheard of, and only occur when someone is crazy enough to believe that they can win, and looking at my petite form, I know that no one will be fooled into thinking that. No, they no why I am here, and as I finally turn to the faces below me I see something that I have rarely seen on the face of another- respect.

"Well now, what is your name?" The woman says, obviously surprised. I also hear a hint of disappointment in her voice- she wanted a good show, with to young lovers, but now I have ruined any chance of that.

But I think this is almost as good.

"Mirabelle Bekkner." I say firmly, proud of how strong my voice sounds now. She audibly gasps, but she's the only one- everyone here else knows me.

"So… You're… You're Mr. Bekkner's sister, yes?"

I don't look at the woman but at the crowd, soaking up the faces.

"Yes."

She smiles awkwardly, and I can tell she's having trouble formulating a response to this.

"Wouldn't want him to steal all the glory, would we?" she asks in lighthearted tone which is obviously forced. I contemplate thinking up a smart response to this, but instead I retreat into my shy self and answer simply,

"Right."

But nothing about this is right.

Everything here is so terribly, terribly wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Thanks to readers and all! And if you guys have any ideas for the story PLEASE post them in the reviews!**

The stark white walls mock me. The room is empty but for the stool I sit on, empty like my mind. I have convinced myself that if I can simply brainwash myself, the horror will disappear. I know that I have to wake up at some point, but that can wait.

Where my mind is empty, my heart is overflowing with words, and gestures and the million little things I wish I could have done and now it's too late. I'm still in my dress from this morning and I look down at the blue material. It's simple cotton, and it makes me wonder once again at the absurd style of the Capitol citizens, with their dyed hair and intense makeup. I wonder what my costume will be for all of the events preceding the games. I pray that I receive a good stylist- all of that can make a huge impact on sponsors.

I am pulled from my thoughts by my father opening the door and quietly slipping into the room, as if he feels that he isn't allowed here.

"Mira…" He whispers.

"Papa!" I run into his arms and he hugs me fiercely. When he pulls back he places his hands firmly on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. I see Sam's eyes reflected in his, and I am tempted to break down into to tears at the absolute horror of the situation- but I don't. I remain calm, and I look my father right back and answer the question in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." I murmur, casting down my eyes and studying my beat-up shoes.

"I didn't think, I just… I knew what I had to do. " I meet his eyes again.

"I know." He says, understanding in his voice. But then he becomes serious and grips my shoulders tighter.

"But the arena is not the time to go with your gut. You need to be smart out there. Work hard. Be strong. I know that you can wi-" He cuts off abruptly. I heard the words, and the hesitation in his voice. How can he ask one child to win when it means killing the other? How can he wish that?

"Be strong." He says once more, with deep conviction. I see the Peacekeeper peek his head in and quietly tell my father that it's time to go. I can tell by the expression of sorrow on his face that he doesn't like this- no one does. He probably recognizes me from my frequent market trips with my mother. He is sad, but he will go home tonight and eat a silent dinner with his family, merely glad that it was not one of his own.

I look at my father one last time and drink in the smell of the wood which he carries always, and his callused hands, and his-

But now he is gone.

I hear a few quiet words from the Peacekeeper and my mother enters, and rushes to my side. Unlike my father, Mama has never been one for words, and instead she just holds me, and whispers in my ear, and quietly hums all of my favorite childhood tunes. I make a mental note to store this memory away for the future, to treasure it forever.

We stay like this for her allotted time, and I know that it is something like 10 minutes but it feels like it has only been a short moment when she has to go. She turns and I see the sorrow etched onto her face, the heartache in her eyes. Suddenly I feel like a weak, spineless girl to have thought that I was experiencing pain- my troubles are minor when compared with hers. Both of her children are entering a brutal fight to the death, and even if she's lucky only one will survive. More likely, neither. I try not to imagine her face, not sad or worried or upset, but dead. Her soul would leave if her two dearest treasures were stolen from her.

And then I'm almost relieved, because who the hell am I kidding?

I won't be alive to see her like that, anyways.

**Thanks for reading! Push the little green button! 30 seconds of your time could make my day (that's just how pathetic I am) so pleeeaase! **

**Oh, and tell me what you think of that chapter- I'm not really sure what I think of it yet. **


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